


Synchroneity

by mochimistress



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fae Jaskier, Jealous Geralt, M/M, doesnt realize it though, gameverse and jaskier are gonna booooooone, he has 2 moms dont come for me, ill update tags as i go ig, post mountain break up, show x game crossover, the sauce(tm) has begun, wow its been a while since i wrote a fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:16:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25255261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochimistress/pseuds/mochimistress
Summary: Jaskier knew there were mutliple worlds, some where he wasn't a bard, some where he was entirely human.And, apparently, some where he and Geralt were in a relationship and managed to land themselves in his world.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I might rewrite that summary. It's my first fic in a l o n g while, so please forgive me for being rusty. I'm following the show canon and what little I know about The Witcher 3. Please enjoy !

Jaskier danced around the tavern, music flowing from his fingertips and lungs. The rhythm flowed from his body as he twirled around the impromptu stage, winking at clapping lads and giggling maidens. The tavern blurred together as Jaskier sang, the muted colors leaving no imprint in his mind. His lungs burned with familiar exertion and he felt almost light, unburdened by the world. With a final flourish, Jaskier finished his set and bowed deeply, keeping a broad smile on his face as he straightened up. 

“Thank you, wonderful people,” Jaskier said, still breathing heavily, “I’m afraid that will be all for now. I must save my voice for my next performance, whenever that may be.” He winked again at the blushing maidens; they giggled behind their hands. 

Jaskier packed up his lute gently and made sure the bulging coin purse hung securely from his waistband before making his way out the tavern. He gave a final wave to the full bar, aching smile finally dropping as he took the short walk to the town’s only inn. His shoulders fell, the tension leaving them as the sounds of the bar grew fainter.

It was a nice night, Jaskier supposed as he drew in a tired breath. The trees swayed with the early summer breeze, bringing with it the promise of hot days and only slightly cooler nights to come. The nightlife sounded vibrantly, the comforting thrum of chirping bugs and scuttering mammals like background music. The crescent moon provided little light, but Jaskier never had trouble finding his way in the dark.

Jaskier would be lying if he said he hadn’t missed the outside world. Being home for a year had been what he needed, somewhere to mend his wounded heart; a nice respite from the constantly happy persona he had invented as a bard. Eventually, as he and his family expected, wanderlust had set in once again, calling him. With a promise to his mothers to visit more, Jaskier left again. 

Jaskier shook his head, clearing his thoughts of such melancholic things and made his way through the inn and into his room. His spare doublets littered the small table and accompanying chair near the far wall, the bed the same unmade mess as he had left it that morning. He cleared out the table, stuffing his clothes back into his travel pack and unlaced the doublet he currently had on. Jaskier sat down heavily and counted out the night’s earnings before stuffing them back into the coin purse and hiding that in the lining of his lute case. 

Toeing off his boots as he trudged back to the bed, Jaskier threw himself onto the bed, sinking into sleep before he could think to remove any more clothing. 

Jaskier awoke with the sun streaming through the cracks of the window shutters. Groaning, he turned over, trying to return to blissful unconsciousness. Five minutes later he huffed, grumbling lowly as he sat up and stretched, the multiple pops as his spine cracked brought a groan of pleasure. 

Standing, Jaskier made his way to a basin on a set of drawers under the window, washing away the last of his sleepiness with the cold water. A quick change of clothes and Jaskier was back on the dirt path, the small town shrinking the farther he walked. 

Jaskier muttered to himself as he scribbled in his notebook, walking haphazardly down the road. The sun was more than halfway through the sky by this point, unnoticed by the bard as a new song began to take shape.

He met the dirt path before anything else could register. 

The sky was colored in reds and oranges when Jaskier managed to regain some consciousness, the ache on the back of his head telling him all he needed to know of how he ended up here. 

Here being his arms and legs bound by some low-quality rope. Jaskier tested the binding, slightly impressed at the knotwork. He shook his head, fighting off the rest of the haze and took in his surroundings. Three rather disgusting looking men stood in a huddle by a small unlit space for a fire. The shortest seemed to be the one in charge, speaking loudly over the other two as he gave orders. He glanced over at Jaskier and gave a kind of smirk, yellowed teeth on full display. 

“Excuse me, my good gentleman,” Jaskier said before any of them could speak. “but can you tell me how I happened into this situation? It appears I’ve been bound, rather expertly I might add-have you had any practice in the bedroom?- and would be most appreciative if I were not.” 

The leader smirk stayed in place, confident. “Ain’t you talkative?” He moved closer, crouching down to Jaskier’s level. Jaskier barely repressed a gag as the bandit’s breath met his face. “Saw you performing in the tavern last night. You left with quite a heavy earnings didn’t ya?” A discolored lob of spittle left his mouth, landing next to Jaskier’s boot. 

“I can assure you sir, you won’t be getting a cent out of my bag.” Jaskier smiled, canines a tad too long, unnoticed by the man in front of him. 

The three thugs laughed, sharing disbelieving glances amongst each other. The leader pat Jaskier’s cheek condescendingly, moving away before Jaskier could snap a finger off with his fangs. 

“Please, keep talking. You’re entertaining even when you aren’t singing,” he stood, still chuckling. Jaskier growled low in his throat, back beginning to tingle as he tensed. He moved to strike-

-when a dagger came from thin air, lodging straight into the man’s eye. Jaskier’s eyes widened in surprise, the body dropping unceremoniously as a pool of blood formed around it.

“Uh-” Jaskier couldn’t get a word in before a large figure came charging into the campsite, cutting down the two other stunned bandits easily.

“G-geralt?” The man turned, unfamiliar familiar amber eyes meeting his across the camp. Jaskier wretched free and launched himself at the Not Geralt. 

They fell back with little resistance; the imposter let go of his sword, palms up on the ground as he stared up at Jaskier. A look between amusement and something like fondness in the man’s eyes.

“Who are you?” Jaskier growled, eyes glowing and ears beginning to sharpen as he straddled the man’s waist. An arm pinned his shoulders down; the man under him made no move to knock him off.

“Geralt of Rivia.” The man was relaxed under Jaskier, as if Jaskier wasn’t one wrong word from tearing his throat out. “Hear my words fae, I do not lie. I am Geralt of Rivia.” Jaskier bared sharp teeth, tasting the air. 

The man- witcher Jaskier corrected himself, the familiar scent of them reaching his nose- was tall, broad, and white haired. There was an unfamiliar scare across his left eye, adding rather than detracting from his handsome features. A well-kept beard and half shaven head were one of the few differences Jaskier could find. Coupled with the all-encompassing feeling of Geralt, Jaskier didn’t know what to think. 

“How?” Jaskier let up, shocked. He stayed on Not Other Geralt but gave him room to breathe. Jaskier felt himself relax back into his glamour, though his fangs stayed elongated. “You’re Geralt, but you’re not m- this world’s Geralt. Where did you come from? How did you get here?”

“Well,” another voice called from the underbrush, startling Jaskier once again and drawing an amused huff from Other Geralt. “I didn’t expect you to work so quickly my darling witcher.”

“He jumped me, Dandelion,” Geralt leaned up on his elbows, turning to the figure coming out from behind a tree. 

A colorfully dressed man stepped out of the shadows, a well-loved lute held askew by a hand. Fae, Jaskier realized, staring into strikingly familiar blue eyes. Dark brown hair framed his face, hiding away slightly tipped ears, paired with a tasteful goatee. The undeniable swirl of his own magic coming from the other fae.

Jaskier gasped, “you’re-”

“You.” Dandelion finished and bowed with a flourish. “Dandelion at your service.” He gave a salacious wink, “Any service, my dear.” 

Only then did Jaskier remember the position he’d put himself in.

Jaskier jumped up, patting off imaginary dust from his pant legs. Geralt stood, gathering his sword and a cloth from one of his pockets. Jaskier coughed, “Jaskier- I go by Jaskier.” 

“Jaskier,” Dandelion repeated with a slight bow of his head, “let’s move this meeting to another location. Our camp is farther up the trail and I’d rather not be here when these ruffians begin to smell worse.” Geralt snorted and finished wiping his sword before sheathing it. 

“Don’t think the smell could get any worse,” he mused and began walking away, the bards quickly following after.

“Do you have any idea how this could have happened?” Jaskier asked a few hours later, the sun long set as rabbits roasted over the campfire. 

Dandelion settled next to Geralt, leaning comfortably on his witcher. Jaskier could feel a twitch in his chest; he hugged his lute closer.

“I thought it had bee Ciri at first,” Geralt said, his voice almost exactly like Jaskier’s Geralt. “But she was on an outing with Yen when we were transported here.” Jaskier’s grip tightened around.

“I see.”

“We thought that if we found this world’s Geralt and me, we would have a better chance of figuring this out together.” Neither Dandelion nor Geralt missed the barely concealed flinch from the younger bard. 

“Ah,” Jaskier cleared his throat, “Geralt and I parted a little more than a year ago. You know how it is, contracts and ready audiences don’t tend to go hand in hand I’m afraid.” Dandelion and Geralt shared a look. “I’d be happy to travel with you as you search for him though! I do know his usual haunts after all.” Jaskier smiled as sincerely as he could, grabbing one of the roasted rabbits. He took a bite, ending the conversation before either of his companions could say anything. 

They rest of the night was spent in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse except that I am Very stupid and Very Gay.

They set out early the next morning. With no horses, travel would be slower, and they had no time to delay. 

“How long have you been here?” Jaskier asked, plucking idly at his lute. Dandelion matched the tune with his own instrument. They walked steadily down the path, the next village a day and a half away.

“A month, give or take,” Dandelion guessed, glancing at his friend for confirmation. Geralt grunted, giving a half-shrug. “We haven’t had much interaction with the locals I’m afraid. If people saw my Geralt, there would be a bit of confusion, wouldn’t there?”

“How long have you known each other?” He asked before he could stop himself. Dandelion stopped playing and tilted his head, brushing a lock of hair behind a slightly pointed ear. Jaskier tried not to stare as much as he would have liked to at how casual his other self was with his inhumanness.

“We haven’t been asked that in quite a long time. Everyone we know already knows or have known us long enough not to bother asking anymore.” Dandelion shrugged, looking at Geralt again. “Do you have any idea, my dear?”

“Give or take a few decades. We met long before Ciri was even conceived.” Geralt smirked, “You _do_ look a few years older, bard.” Dandelion gasped in faux offense and slapped his bicep playfully.

“You geriatric brute! I don’t look a day over twenty-seven and you know it!” He huffed, sticking his nose up in the air.

Geralt chuckled, “Standing next to Jaskier, one could say you are his father.” Geralt dodged the next swat to his head with mirth twinkling in his eyes.

Jaskier watched the interaction, halfway amused and wholly envious.

“Well,” Jaskier flipped his hair, putting on a confident air, “It _is_ difficult when standing next to someone with such a youthful disposition.”

“Cheeky, aren’t you little one?” Geralt raised an eyebrow, giving up on dodging the rain of punches Dandelion delivered on his shoulder. Jaskier flushed involuntarily at the slow up and down Geralt gave him, appraising him. Something akin to heat pooling in his stomach when Geralt shared a glance with Dandelion. Geralt’s expression smoothed as fast as it had been heated.

“And how long have you and your Geralt known each other?” Dandelion asked, giving up on trying to teach Geralt a lesson. He stepped lightly over a dip and continued on. “You _do_ appear younger than I, surely it hasn’t been very long for you?”

Jaskier tried to hide his flinch, replying, “We met twenty-three years ago in a small tavern in Posada. I had been wrongfully booed off the stage-honestly, those men wouldn’t have known a good song if it bit them on the ass- and we had a grand adventure against some elves. I received my current lute in compensation for the one they had broken. The poor darling,” Jaskier sniffed, “she did not deserve such a boorish end.”

“That’s not very long,” Dandelion said, fingers returning to his own lute on instinct. A soft melody played, something Jaskier could relate to one he had been working on, though different in key.

“This is a different place and time Dandelion.” Geralt pointed out.

“I know _that_.”

“Geralt, the Geralt of this world,” Jaskier said, carefully avoiding any possessive wording, “does look younger than you. He doesn’t have the scar on his eye, though it does bring out your rugged good looks, my dear. His head isn’t half-shaven either, he prefers to have it loose as well, but the tail you sport does give you a more refined look. And the beard doesn’t hurt with giving you a more mature feeling.” Jaskier threw in a flirty wink.

“Hmm.” Geralt looked him up and down again, “You are rather fresh-faced, perhaps it is the lack of facial hair. Although your clothes aren’t as garish and are more… _form fitting_.” His gaze lingered on Jaskier’s thighs, the fabric of his pants straining around the muscle there. Jaskier couldn’t help a second flush from gracing his face.

“I must agree, though we _will_ be having words about that jab at my wardrobe, witcher.” Dandelion huffed, though the amusement in his gaze betrayed his words.

Geralt inclined his head, finally looking away from the younger bard. “We should stop soon. The sun will be setting soon, and I need to go looking for dinner.”

“Yes, yes, alright. Jaskier and I will set up camp, you go and put those witcher senses to use, Love.” Dandelion waved him off, pulling Jaskier to a clear spot a ways away from the path and began clearing the stray leaves and placing the larger rocks in a pile.

Jaskier blinked dumbly for a moment, thrown in a loop by the term of endearment so casually used by the two. His mind whirred through the possibilities the name could mean for the nature of their relationship.

“What is the matter, Jaskier?” Dandelion stood in front of him, earning a jump from Jaskier. Behind him, the camp was halfway done, a hap-hazard fire on uneven dirt.

“Ah- there is something on my mind, but nothing of too much import, and excuse me but what in the world is _that_ pathetic excuse for a fire pit??” Jaskier looked pointedly at the sticks thrown together, not a speck of tinder under the mound.

“Well excuse _me_ , if you hadn’t been lost in space, I wouldn’t have been left to do such a difficult task!” Dandelion sniffed, draping himself over Jaskier. “Surely, a young, _virile_ man such as yourself can help me?” Dandelion leaned closer, whispering the last sentence into his ear, caressing his chest.

Jaskier could feel his ears heat up, a shiver running down his spine. He quickly hid his face, ducking out from under Dandelion’s arms and making his way to the fire pit.

“Flattery will get you some places, Dandelion.” Jaskier said smoothly, already crouched down to rearrange the rocks into a suitable circle before putting the tinder together, topping it with sticks leaning against each other in a pyramid type structure.

“Ah, to be so young,” Dandelion sighed dreamily, leaning against a fallen log Jaskier had moved closer to the camp. He watched Jaskier move around the camp, setting up the bedrolls and finding suitable sticks to use to roast their dinner.

There was a snort. “Making others do your work for you again, Dandy?” Geralt stepped into view, half a dozen rabbits hanging from the rope around his palm.

“My good witcher, you know I am not one for manual labor. I am far too pretty and have a delicate disposition.” Dandelion threw his head back, the back of his hand on his forehead, side eyeing Geralt.

“Says the man who once committed a convoluted heist with Ciri.” Geralt snorted, sitting next to Jaskier and beginning to skin the rabbits. Jaskier grabbed one, to Geralt surprised, and worked as efficiently as he did, removing the pelt quickly.

“It would have worked too, if not for Menge. Ciri and I would’ve gotten off free, the bastard.” Dandelion grumbled, grabbing his lute. Tuning quickly, he began to play, singing a song about a Whoreson Junior. Jaskier huffed a laugh.

He watched his counterpart and Geralt, their back and forth somehow familiar and yet completely foreign to him. It was easy to see himself and hi-this world’s Geralt in them, but there was something else. An affection Jaskier had never been given the chance to share with the witcher.

Dandelion settled close to Geralt, shoulders and thighs against each other as he whispered in his ear. Geralt chuckled, settling a hand on the bard’s knee and asking for a song. Dandelion obliged, soft voice filling the space in the camp.

Jaskier couldn’t help the ache that settled in his chest at the sight. Would he ever get the chance to be that close to his own witcher? Would he ever get the privilege to be as close as he once was? 

_What did I do wrong,_ Jaskier thought sadly, _that I was not allowed the same closeness with my Geralt?_ The difference between their interactions and Jaskier’s own experiences made his chest constrict in ways he never felt.

Geralt caught Jaskier’s eye, the affection palpable in amber eyes. Jaskier gave a weak smile, waiting until the witcher’s attention was taken by his own bard before letting it slip into oblivion. 

Jaskier slept with a heavy heart that night.

They made it to the village by midday. Jaskier bartered a couple of rooms and two meals in exchange for entertainment for the night. That was fine, they would only be staying long enough to ask around for any information on Geralt. 

Jaskier sat by the bar, sipping a pint of ale and listening closely to the chatter around him. He’d sent Geralt and Dandelion up to starve off any questioning locals.

The barkeep stopped in front of Jaskier. “Don’t you usually travel with The White Wolf? No one’s seen you in over a year, people have said he’s been travelling on his own for a while now.”

Jaskier swallowed a mouthful of alcohol. “Yes, I took up a position in court, you know how it is and ran into a couple of friends that need his help. Has he been through here by chance?” 

“Passed through about a fortnight ago, killed a kikimore that was hunting these parts. Last I saw, he was heading North.” The barkeep wiped off the area, giving Jaskier a last nod before checking on his other patrons. 

Dandelion stretched out on the lumpy bed, arms splayed, and stared up at the ceiling, thinking. 

After sneaking Geralt in wearing a hood to hide his face, Jaskier had sent the duo to one of the rooms, stating he would go gather information and make some money before they left the next morning. 

Geralt on his part, went without a fuss, taking off his armor and making sure there were no tears. Once he was done checking it over, he set about sharpening his swords. They sat in comfortable silence, the soft sound of a whetstone scoring against the blade.

“Does Jaskier seem to be acting…strange?” Dandelion asked suddenly, not turning to his witcher. Geralt glanced at him, not stopping his own task, and waited for Dandelion to continue. “Do you suppose something has happened between him and his own Geralt?”

Geralt hummed, “You believe he is hiding something?”

Dandelion leaned up on his elbows, finally turning to meet Geralt’s amber gaze. “I know you’ve noticed his reactions when we even hint at this world’s White Wolf, Geralt.”

Geralt hummed again and Dandelion flopped down in exasperation. Gently laying the sword down, Geralt made his way to the bed and nudged Dandelion over to leave room for him to settle.

Dandelion complied, wiggling towards the wall and turned onto his side to face the other man.

“We should help them!” Dandelion’s eyes sparkled with ideas.

“We should not.” Geralt protested, despite knowing he was fighting a losing battle.

“But Geralt!” Dandelion bounced onto his lap, forcing a grunt out of him. “He looks so despondent, defeated, forlorn, heartbroken-”

“Dandelion.” Geralt sighed in fond exasperation.

“- _sad._ His disposition is nothing but downhearted, dear heart, and it hurts to see any version of myself like this.” He stared into Geralt’s eyes pleadingly. “He’s like a small puppy who has lost his owner.”

Geralt was inclined to agree, but he wasn’t about to admit it out loud.

“Don’t you remember how you were before you had me? You were _miserable._ ”

“I also had silence.”

“Please, we both know you would miss my effervescent personality and engaging conversation.” Dandelion huffed at Geralt’s amused chuckle, but continued, “Don’t you want the other us to be as happy as we are together?” He rested a hand on Geralt’s chest, over his slow beating heart.

“My love, no version of you deserves to be lonely.”

Geralt’s eyes softened, one of his own hands coming to rest over Dandelion’s on his chest. He studied the bard, his dark hair tousled and unrestrained adoration making them shine brightly.

“Alright.” Geralt agreed, getting a bright smile before Dandelion leaned down and captured his mouth.

Fingers threaded through silky dark hair as Geralt deepened the kiss. A fire ignited deep in his belly as he ground up. Dandelion let out a whining moan, mouth opening in invitation Geralt couldn’t deny. Tongues slid together languidly as hips began to roll together, meeting each thrust with passion.

Dandelion’s free hand made its way under Geralt’s worn black shirt, meeting warm firm muscle as it slid up. Their mutual arousal strained against their trousers, begging to be freed. Geralt detangled a hand, sliding down, down, _down_ -

“Hello, I brought you-” Jaskier cut himself off with a choked gasp, startling the men out of their moment. The door was partially open, Jaskier standing in the gap with a tray full of food balanced in his hands.

Dandelion smiled salaciously, “Hello there,”

“S-so sorry, I’ll just leave this for you-goodbye! _”_ He barely dropped the tray on the small table in the corner when the door was already slamming after him.

“He left so quickly,” Dandelion sighed sadly, settling back onto Geralt’s hardness, “such a shame.”

Geralt laughed heartily, “I thought we were going to help them?”

“Doesn’t mean _we_ can’t have a taste as well my dear.” Dandelion ground down, earning a throaty growl. “Perhaps another time. Now, where were we?”

Jaskier slammed the door shut, his back hitting the hard wood as his heart raced. He was sure his face was as redder than a rose at this point, burning as it was.

They were-

He had-

It was-

_Hot,_ Jaskier’s mind supplied, the blood leaving his face and focusing somewhere else.

Jaskier shook his head violently, dispelling any unchaste thoughts. He forced his legs to carry him the few steps to the bed, collapsing once he was in range. Jaskier kicked off his boots, uncaring where they landed, and laid there. His mind couldn’t help but go back to the scene he just witnessed.

Seeing Dandelion, hair mussed from Geralt’s hand, their bodies pressed together almost painfully. Geralt reaching to cup Dandelion’s ass under his trousers, moving in tandem, a dance he had partaken in countless times. But this-

This was one of the most arousing displays he’d ever witnessed.

And also one he wished he had never seen.

To watch a version of himself so close to a version of Geralt, it made his heart heavy, burdened with envy. Jaskier was stuck between wishing he could have joined and wishing he had never left his mothers’ court.

Turning over with an exhausted sigh, Jaskier clutched the blanket to his chest; the only source of comfort he could find in the threadbare fabric. Burying his face in the pillow, Jaskier closed his eyes, willing himself into a restless slumber. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I threw in a little NSFW, as a treat ;3c

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try to update once a week, but my muses elude me like the moon eludes the sun. 
> 
> Till next time !


End file.
